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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29210754">(Pause for breath)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/isa_belle/pseuds/isa_belle'>isa_belle</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Dream smp [9]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Cuddling, Fluff, Guilt, Hurt TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Hurt/Comfort, Older Sibling Wilbur Soot, Protective Wilbur Soot, Self-Hatred, TommyInnit Needs a Hug (Video Blogging RPF), and he gets one, the sleepy bois are sleepy bois</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 06:15:16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,675</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29210754</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/isa_belle/pseuds/isa_belle</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Wilbur told him to stay calm. Wilbur told him to control his temper. Wilbur told him to stay quiet.</p><p>    (Of course, it doesn’t matter what you told him.)      </p><p> </p><p>,,,or in the aftermath of the duel for L’manburg, Wilbur worries about his brother</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Floris | Fundy &amp; TommyInnit, Floris | Fundy &amp; Wilbur Soot, Toby Smith | Tubbo &amp; TommyInnit, Toby Smith | Tubbo &amp; Wilbur Soot, Wilbur Soot &amp; TommyInnit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Dream smp [9]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2068152</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>284</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>(Pause for breath)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>what’s up. it’s missing old L’manburg hours.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tommy Innit is a fool. </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">He’s lying in the haphazard cot they shoved in the back room of the van, buried under thin coats and thinner blankets, out like a light. His breathing is shallow, but he’s breathing, which is better than he was an hour ago. <em>( </em></span><em><span class="s2">Down another life, all for </span><span class="s1">your </span><span class="s2">revolution. </span></em><span class="s2"><em>)</em> </span> <span class="s1">Bandages and bits of cloth wrap his shoulder, tight against the wound on his chest. His hair’s a bit wet still, and blood stains the clothes they left on him. </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Wilbur sits by his feet, watching his chest rise, flexing and unflexing his fingers, itching to reach out to his brother but worried he’ll hurt him. He’s got a health potion in one hand, and he’s gripping it like a lifeline. </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Wilbur told him to stay calm. Wilbur told him to control his temper. Wilbur told him to </span> <em> <span class="s2">stay quiet</span><span class="s1">. </span> </em></p><p class="p1"><em> <span class="s1">(</span> <span class="s2">Of course, it doesn’t matter what you told him. )</span> </em> <span class="s1"> <span class="Apple-converted-space">  </span> </span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Tommy’s not exactly known for following orders. Wilbur knows that as well as anyone. No amount of words will calm him, no hand on the shoulder, he’s always anxious for action. Restless. When things don’t go his way he makes them. Good for battle. Not so much for peace negotiations. Wilbur </span> <em> <span class="s2">knows</span> </em> <span class="s1"> that. It’s something you learn when you spend the better part of your life with your arm around a kid who can’t sit still. </span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1"> <em>(</em> </span> <em> <span class="s2">If Tommy’s a fool, then so are you. You should’ve known. You should’ve left him where he’d be safe.</span> <span class="s2">)</span> </em></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">All it took was a few words, phrasing that was just wrong enough to get in Tommy’s head, precise and carefully spoken in that way you don’t really expect Dream to be<em> ( </em></span><em><span class="s2">But he is, he always is ) </span></em> <span class="s1">with a vicious sort of grace. <em>( </em></span><em><span class="s2">Flicking tongue. Green bastard. </span></em><span class="s1"><em>)</em> Then Tommy was off like a rocket, red vision, swearing and screaming in the face of a man who could kill him <em>( </em></span><em><span class="s2">Will kill him. Did kill him </span></em><span class="s1"><em>)</em> with reckless abandon. Just a laugh that was a bit mocking and a mask that sat too straight and there goes Tommy, heart on his sleeve dragging him again to put his life on the line for Wilbur’s revolution. He shouldn’t have had to do that. Wilbur shouldn’t have let him. <em>( </em></span><em><span class="s2">Bad brother, you’re a bad brother. </span><span class="s1">)</span></em></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Your life is worth more than the revolution.” He said, because it’s true and it always will be true. But it’s not enough. <em>(</em></span> <em> <span class="s2">You’re not enough.</span> <span class="s1">)</span> </em></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Wilbur should have known he couldn’t control himself. He’s a child, he’s not supposed to know how to yet. It’s </span> <em> <span class="s2">his </span> </em> <span class="s1">fault. He knows better. And yet he let Tommy come with him. His right-hand man, brother in more than just arms. </span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1"> <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><em>(</em> </span> <em> <span class="s2">How can you not blame yourself? When you know he so easily slips into red red red. When part of that is your fault.</span> <span class="s1">)</span> </em></p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s1">(</span> <span class="s2">Raising a child is hard when you still are one, though, and that’s not on you.</span> <span class="s2">)</span> </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tommy’s a slave to his heart on the best of days, left always to the will and whim of his own emotions. (That’s not a bad thing, though, not always. That’s one of Wil’s favorite things about Tommy. He’s a hothead stuffed to the brim with energy and rage, but he loves fiercely, and when he cares about something he cares about it with everything he is. L’manburg is a testament to that he supposes. <em>)</em></span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">There was nothing he could do to stop it in the end <em>(</em></span> <em> <span class="s2">helpless, always helpless.</span> </em> <span class="s1"><em>)</em> Hands were shaken, the deed was done. </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Duel. Sunset. Half a heart. All he could do was clutch his brother's hand and try to scrounge up enough supplies to snag him a decent bow. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tommy was nervous before the duel, bouncing from foot to foot, keeping a close eye on Tubbo, and never wandering far from Wil’s side. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Should I shoot him Wil, or should I aim for the skies,” he asked, hand shaking in his grip, sweat on his brow. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s1">(</span> <span class="s2">Doubt comes in, it always does. Creeping and violent and silent in its pursuit.</span> <span class="s1">)</span> </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I want you to do whatever your heart says that you should do.” He squeezed his hand, gave him a steady smile, unflinching. </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1"> <em>(</em> </span> <em><span class="s2">All you can do is ease the stress. Calm the nerves. It’s not enough, </span> <span class="s1">you’re</span> <span class="s2"> not enough. </span><span class="s1">)</span></em></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They walked in silence to the path where the duel would be had as the sun gave way to the moon. The sunset was pretty. It felt like even the skies were mocking them. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The air was thick with tension as they came. Nerves poured off of Tommy in waves but he stood straight, collected. </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1"> <span class="Apple-converted-space">  </span><em>(</em> </span> <em> <span class="s2">You were proud, despite it all, you were proud of him</span><span class="s1">. )</span> </em></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1"> <span class="Apple-converted-space">   </span><em>(</em> </span> <em> <span class="s2">That didn’t stop the arrow though.</span> <span class="s2">)</span> </em></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Dream greeted them coldly, as he does, emotions tucked safe behind that sadistic little smile. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Wilbur’s voice shook as he counted out the numbers. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“One... two... three...”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1"> <em>(</em> </span> <em> <span class="s2">He died. He died and it’s your fault.</span> <span class="s1">)</span> </em></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Four... five... six...”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1"><span class="Apple-converted-space">  </span><em>(</em></span> <em> <span class="s2">Your choice, Wil, your brother, or your revolution.</span> <span class="s1">)</span></em></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Seven... eight... nine...”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">  <em>(</em> </span> <em> <span class="s2">Tommy, always Tommy, of course Tommy.</span> <span class="s1">)</span> </em></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ten paces fire!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s1">(</span> <span class="s2">But it’s too late to choose now, isn’t it? The arrow hits its mark. His body hits the water. He looks so young, don’t you think?)</span> </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s2">( Just a boy.</span> <span class="s1">)</span> </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As soon as the arrow was sailing through the air, Wil was charging into the waves, blood frozen with paralyzing fear. </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">  <em>(</em> </span> <em> <span class="s2">Your boy.</span> <span class="s1">)</span> </em></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Static buzzed in his ears, drowning out everything other than the desperate scream that tore its way from Tubbos throat, loud enough to rise above the noise. The lake was murky red with blood. </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">He dove into the water as he reached it, a gulp of air, and then below the blue he went, eyes wide and frantic. He found Tommy’s jacket with his hand and yanked him out by the front of it, breaking the surface and dragging him to the bridge. He laid him out, pressed his ear to his chest for a heartbeat, a breath, a pulse, </span> <em> <span class="s2">anything</span><span class="s1">. </span> </em></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He found none. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Just static and silence. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s1">( T</span><span class="s2">his is your fault. This is your fucking fault</span><span class="s1">. )</span> </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Fundy held Tubbo back in his hysterics to run to his friend. Dream smiled and walked away. The static blared, Wilbur’s mind went numb. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">On autopilot he picked up Tommy’s body, holding him like he did when he was a kid, brought him back home, and waited with bated breath for his chest to rise again. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em><span class="s1">( </span><span class="s2">Maybe you fucked up more than you thought. Maybe he’s </span> <span class="s1">dead</span> <span class="s2"> dead. Maybe you lost him</span><span class="s1">. )</span></em>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1"> <em>(</em> </span> <em> <span class="s2">But no. His breathing starts up and Tubbo sobs over him, and you don’t leave his side for hours.</span> <span class="s2">)</span> </em></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tommy mumbles something in his sleep, turning his head against the pillow.He looks peaceful when he’s sleeping. Younger. Wilbur doesn’t think he’s looked young in a while. He thinks maybe that’s his fault. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tommy’s gonna hate this when he wakes up. Wilbur’s gonna coddle him and Tubbo’s gonna worry. He doesn’t like to be vulnerable, he doesn’t like pity, that’s just how he’s built. But the fact is that he is now, whether he likes it or not. Tommy could die. And that thought scares the hell out of Wilbur. But even so, he still feels a stubborn bit of pride, swimming below the guilt and the self-blame. A flame too earnest to burn out, bright beneath the gray. Despite it all, he’s proud. </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">That’s his brave baby brother, that’s his boy. His pride and joy. And he’s scared out of his mind for him, but he’s proud nonetheless. Pride of a brother </span> <span class="s2">and </span> <span class="s1">of a general. </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tommy stirs slowly as Wil watches, blinking at the light and muttering softly, trying to bury himself deeper in the fabric on top of him. Wilbur smiles. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s1">(</span> <span class="s2">He’s not soft often. He thinks it makes him weak. You’re lucky to see this. Don’t fuck it up any more than you already have</span><span class="s1">. )</span> </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey, Toms,” he says gently. Tommy’s face scrunches up. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wilby?” He asks, voice scratchy with sleep. Wil softens more at the nickname, memories of little Tommy and his missing front tooth and tiny stuffed cow dancing to the front of his mind. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What happ’nd?” He slurs. “Did I-Where am I?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“L’manburg, bubs, you’re home, you’re okay.” He reaches out a hand and pushes the hair from Tommy’s eyes. He sinks into the touch. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You tried to fight Dream for our independence. Remember?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Our-“ he blinks for a moment then shuts his eyes again, “‘m tired, Wil.” His head falls back onto the pillow but he makes grabby hands toward Wilbur. His heart swells at the sight, and he’s next to his brother in the bed in an instant, pulling him into a hug. Tommy curls against the warmth of his chest, muttering incoherently with an air of anger when he jostles his arm the wrong way and disturbs the wound on his chest. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s okay Tommy Innit, you can go to sleep.” He pauses. “I’m proud of you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tommy tucks his face further into Wilbur’s chest, huffing in apparent confusion. “M’kay.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Wil lets out a little laugh. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><span class="Apple-converted-space">   A</span>nd later it’s Tubbo coming in and holding his friend and “Never do that again, you prick.” It’s more potions and bandaids on wounds and doctor Fundy, the closest thing they have to a medic. It’s sitting in a silent van and “Can we just blame Eret?” And a resounding “yeah, probably.” It’s “Why did you say that you were proud, Wil, I failed. I had a chance and I fucking blew it.” It’s tears and yelling and broken glass. It’s “it’s okay, Toms! I’m glad it’s L’manburg and not you, you’re something I can’t afford to lose!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But that’s later. Right now he just presses a kiss to his brother’s forehead, says “I love you Tommy,” tries to quiet the angry voice in his head, and drift off to sleep. Right now he holds his brother, just back from dead, but very much alive and very much going to stay that way if Wilbur has his way. Right now he breathes.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>they’re brothers, your honor.<br/>thank you for reading :) if you liked it comment, please please please, i triple dog dare you. also check out my other stuff if you want :))</p><p>Byee</p></blockquote></div></div>
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